While waiting for a friend to join me for an early dinner at the Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits on Court Street, I was leaning against a scaffolding pole and leaving my friend a phone message when I sensed I was being stared at. I looked up and standing in front of me was a well-dressed black woman who appeared to be in her early sixties. She held me transfixed as she looked me up and down, a sneer of naked disdain on her face as her angry-looking eyes bored into my very being. When she noted me looking back at her, she said with a West Indian accent, "I can't believe what I'm seeing in this country..." I was not dressed inappropriately, I was talking softly into my phone, and was in no way doing anything to inspire such a from-out-of-nowhere critique. Confused, I asked "What did I do?" She glared at me and simply responded with "Bunch of BULLSHIT!!!" before dismissively and disgustedly turning her back on me and stridently marching up the block.
The only thing I can think of that could possibly have set her off — other than possible insanity — was the Judge Death badge I wear on my left lapel. Whatever the case, I was stunned as I once again prove my friend John Bligh's long-ago observation that I am indeed a "magnet for the crazy."
1 comment:
How did she know your name? ;)
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